


A Friendly Spar

by DreamSlippers



Category: Cradle Series - Will Wight
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamSlippers/pseuds/DreamSlippers
Summary: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE SERIES UNTIL UNDERLORD. Two months of seperation isn't really that long in the face of what they've already come across before. Eithan the troll as always, likes his drama.





	1. Reunion

**A Friendly Spar**

 

Note: This takes place after Underlord. Spoilers abound!

 

Eithan reclines atop a block of black stone, a fan in hand. If not for the ominous purple flashes of lightning and the illumination of script and torchlight that dotted the Akura arena grounds within Night Wheel Valley, the ex-patriarch of the Arelius would easily be seen as slacking in on one of the most prestigious tournaments in all of Cradle.

The team captain of his Blackflame Empire being his person truly if his fashionably inscrolled pastel robes haven't denounced it yet to an onlooker's eyes.

He hummed a tune, whoever was managing the maintenance of this particular space was doing an incredible job. The entire place was immaculate; not a crack in the masonry, script runes whole and hale, and the symmetry... to think this is just one of the arenas within this little pocket space. Admirable,  but this was just a pleasant appetizer of what is to come.

A smile graced his lips as he fans himself in anticipation.  

"Sometimes I like to see what's in that golden head of yours."

Naru Saeya walked through one of the awnings behind him. Her steps echoing through the empty arena. Peacock feathers adorned her raven hair, their long black strands were now tied into a tail that brushed past her green sacred artist's robes holding the Blackflame Empire's emblem upon them. On her back were her folded emerald wings -her goldsigns that marked her chosen path.

"Right now? Nothing important, just tweaking the training regimens is all."

Her eyes narrowed as her own bloodline abilities picked up one particular madra signature approaching on the other side of the arena.

"You're messing with Akura Charity's plans for her Blackflame ward?" her voice trembled to almost a shout as she reigned in her emotions. It was one thing if the boy was still under their Empire, but when the Sage of the Silver Heart had chosen who would replace her nephew in the tournament for the Akura; they could not say otherwise. For in truth, their Empire was but a vassal under them.

That and because the Blackflame had been involved in the death of Akura Harmony.

Eithan waggled a finger " Uh-uh, the correct word is _complementing._ And not to worry, I still have say in the boy's progression." The blonde underlord winks.

"I'm not the first ranked Underlord in charm within our Empire for nothing mind you."

Saeya isn't too sure whether or not she'd be horrified or angry at this. But the man has pulled off some ridiculous stunts before.

So she lets out a sigh.

"Well, so long as Charity won't suddenly swoop in from her meetings with the rest of the ranking Akuras... I'm in your care _team leader_."

Eithan gestures to one of the nearby seats overlooking the arena grounds below, brushing off her earlier tone.

"If you have some time off from your own cycling techniques this morning.." He waves his free hand up at the dark open roof  "Not that I can tell, may I suggest spectating this particular match? I promise you, this'll be... informative to say the least."

And that he might need a helping hand if things get too heated.

* * *

 

 

 

Wei Shi Lindon walks into the outer courtyard of the arena. His black Akura robes trailed behind him as he moved, the purple accents showing beneath the outer lapels and pleats in a pattern reminiscent of fire. His prosthetic right arm was alabaster white despite almost mimicking his original in all ways except that the white the hunger madra composing it lay dormant within.

It hasn't been two months since he'd trained with the Akura and already he felt the keen sense of loss he has with his friends. It was like those first few months out of Sacred Valley all over again. He still occasionally wonder how was the clan doing without him; Did his actions in Mount Samara find its way back to Wei Clan? What would they think of him? A pariah, either exiled or dead?

Sure he had Mercy to talk to [although she'd promise to train her younger brother this morning too bad]. But what of Yerin, was she stronger now too? He'd been told who were the team the Blackflame Empire had formed and to his relief [unsurprisingly] both Eithan and Yerin had made the cut.

Still, without Eithan for the past month, would he be left alone? He banishes that stray thought. He was fine after that time stranded within Ghostwater right? And with the Akura's guidance, surely he'd be at her level still.  

It was why he was anticipating the blonde underlord's message when he was finally allowed some leeway from Akura Charity and Fury's instruction. He was grateful and all despite the literal bone breaking sessions he had. [Pride really cracked that femur bad huh.]

He was getting fidgety.

Dross interrupted his thoughts [Hate to ruin your self depreciating internal monologue, but we're here. Oh look, janitor numbuh one's here too!]

And Lindon was. He emerged up the steps to the edge of the Akura arena. Sure enough he could see Eithan atop the black walls encircling the grounds.

And just emerging from the opposite from his was Yerin.

* * *

 

 

She kept her straight black hair past her shoulders. Yerin never bothered to experiment since the master always prioritized practicality first in battle. Not too long that it'd get in her way, not too short she was adminished for the proper appearances around the more urban parts of the world.

Although having it this long wasn't so bad, her friends did say it looked good on her.

Yerin nonchalantly passes a hand through her hair as she walked towards the arena's edge. As underlady, no one would under her rank would get even close to her unless she'd allow it. One of six metallic bladed arms that served as her goldsigns folded on her back will be ample deterrant, if not for her control of sword madra.

Grey robes covered her lithe form, with the Sage of Endless Sword- her master's straight sword sheathed tight to her left hip. Her blood shadow within was wound tight around her madra core, the parasite almost throbbing with anticipation.

An old reflex caused her to move the hand on her hair and latch unto the sword's hilt, knuckles white. 

Burn and bury her, she was the same; that she'll concede despite her feelings of enmity towards her parasite. The desire to see Lindon again even after such a short time of absence. It plagued her like her master's death and her family's before that. Ironic that the realization of loss had fuelled her to underlady status.

It wasn't so long ago that she'd been Lindon's guardian, the hen that protected her egg before he overcame that and became her rival in training- her equal.

It was laughable she knows. There was an undertone of fear that she realized his growth may far outpace her own, almost drowning her when that cracked Seishen gardener had forced her to feed her very life to that bloody parasite. In that brief state with barely a month to live, a terror encroached; she'll never make it to the pinnacle of where her master had once stood. That she'll get left behind.

Until Lindon had pushed her on, even made her want to see what was beyond the endless climb of battle that her master had so drilled into her. She'd like to read and write one day, and go back to...

She forcefully shoved the rest of the thought to the depths of her skull before her face would show them. No need to feed Eithan. He had eyes everywhere.

She steps into the edge of the arena, the light of script and flame shining on her face.

And there was Lindon. The Akura robes suited him, and now he even wore the part of evil sect leader. She repressed the urge to go running and hug him. She settled for a grin instead.

"See, you just can't get rid of me that easy."

"I wouldn't want to get rid of you. You know that." Lindon pointed out.

She barely noticed the faint blush creeping on her cheeks.

[Yes, we miss you too. More from my big, strong and capable artist here- who just now has become a bigger softie. But yes, also from me.] Dross echoed from inside her head.

As they moved closer to the arena's center, Little Blue materialized atop Lindon's shoulder. The etheral wisps of bluish madra collected into the form of a small blue lady perched upon his robes. After a moment's hesitation, the small blue spirit managed a wave at her before hugging Lindon's neck. Her blue mouth speaking in tinkling chimes.

Yerin waved back. It wasn't much but it was something finally from the Riverseed Spirit. After months Little Blue would immediately back off from her in fear, it was maybe getting used to her parasitic guest.

The ground before her shook as Eithan leapt to the center and immediately hugged the both of them in each of his arms.

"Ah together at last and all in one piece!"

"One piece?" echoed Lindon.

"Tell me this isn't just a reunion party after just two months away." Yerin grouched.

“It did cross my mind that the Akura would have a brutal regimen rivalling my own especially with the Uncrowned Tournament's hastened schedule. With the way you are right now, I'm pretty sure mine's still the best right?" The Arelius Underlord needled unabashed.

Then he pushed both Yerin and Lindon away from him.

"And that's right little sister. We're celebrating this with a bang."

"Let me guess, both of us are finally fighting against you?" Yerin’s goldsigns emerged from her back in an array of pointed blades. A hand on the sword’s hilt.

Eithan barked a laugh.

"Oh heavens no Yerin! Well, maybe not yet.“ He made no attempt to hide a coy smile.

“You're going to duel each other."

* * *

 

 

Notes:

 

ARGH! The Cradle series consumed the majority of my sleep as I breezed through the books in a span of two weeks. Now that I've cleared Underlord I've had withdrawals trying to seek out similar books while waiting for Uncrowned. Now with my collection of light novels and books to tide me over in the meantime, hat's off to you Will Wight; the books were quite the ride.

Now unto this story. So this takes place approximately two months post events of Underlord. Lindon has gotten stronger under the tutelage of the Akura, along with Mercy and Pride. While both Charity and Fury oversee the training of the Clan's representatives. Eithan and co. have done their own preparations before coming through the Night Wheel Valley to maximize training efficiency for both teams to compete and allow Eithan to have some input since Akura Malice did approve of him. (This scenario is probably not going to fly in Uncrowned, but one can dream.)   

Oh can anyone take a gander what you’d think Lindon’s weapon would be? Or what you’d like to see in the future upcoming fanfictions? Suggestions? Please leave a kudos and write them down the comments section 😊

Stay tuned, since this is but part one of two. Till then, 😉


	2. Copper Kiss

Eithan savoured the half second pause as both of his apprentices gaped. For a moment he's reminded of the time he'd orchestrated the marriage of Cassias in exchange for his position as Patriarch of the Arelius.

But that was then and this was now.

"Forgiveness underlord, but I am not fit to fight Yerin. We are of the same level, but experience-wise she trumps me far more." Lindon sheepishly retorts.

"Is this Lindon the Black Dragon speaking? Survivor of Jai Long and Blood Phoenix, slayer of Ekeri, the Gold Dragon hmm?" pokes the Arelius Underlord.

"Thing is you've long surpassed even those titles now. With the tournament teeming with artists far beyond your level, it's exactly why I am asking you this."

He turns his gaze on Yerin, "And I need to know how the both of you are going to fight at this level. Eventually, it will be likely one of you is going to fight the other. That is not to say of the Blood Phoenix breathing down on us all yes?"

Yerin narrows her gaze towards the blond underlord before looking back at Lindon "Understood."

Likewise, Lindon ascents. Despite the roil in his mind. He could not argue with the Eithan's logic.

"Perfect!" There was a clap of hands as Eithan leapt to the other side of the arena, passing over the wall and up to the stands.

"For all intents and purposes, this is a serious duel to incapacitation unless deemed otherwise. No worries, I and Naru Saeya over there will stop it if anything gets too hairy." Saeya nods at them in greeting.

Eithan manipulates something on the control panel of the arena. Within moments the scripts lining the arena walls shines, extending a bubble of transparent protective madra surrounding the walls to prevent leakage of powerful techniques from extending away the arena grounds.

* * *

 

 

From within the bubble of madra Lindon opens his void key. The fissure of space leading into a pocket dimension of the various nick-knacks and treasures he'd found along their journey.

"It's alright, I'll see you soon." He gestures Little Blue on his shoulders. The riverseed spirit burbles a series of chimes as he motioned her in. In the next moment, Lindon withdraws a long shaft of wood, ending in a purple tasselled metal spike and angled hammer. Both of which were wreathed in sealed madra.

He took his stance with the head spike facing her the length of his weapon now doubling his reach. Lindon breathed, steadying himself as he starts cycling his madra across his body's channels. Feet angled against each other, presenting only a side for Yerin to seek; a form bourn through merciless Akura. A shroud of Blackfire envelops him as his eyes turn from white to black.

"Let me guess? A trick weapon?" Yerin teased. The blade in her hand gleamed in white under the light as she enforces sword madra unto her sword. In copper's sight; the edges were honed and bright as the thin ripples of deadly force that shrouded it began coalescing not only from her sword but through the six bladed arms arrayed like a spider against him. She crouches slightly, ready to bound at a moment's notice.   

"You know me all too well. If you're curious, come close." Lindon warily paces to her side, eyes locked unto her form. _Dross give me a plan here_ [yeah and you need let her show me some of her moves first].

"Bold, to prod the tiger." She smirks. "But I'll pass." She swings all of her blades at him at once.

Rippling Sword erupts in destructive waves, gouging the arena grounds in its wake as it quickly rushes towards him.

Lindon leaps, his Blackfire Cloak lending him explosive strength as he clears the cleaving madra below. He swivels midair, twisting to bring the full force of the hammer down to Yerin below.  The binding upon its black surface unravels as the smooth surface begins to spark.

Yerin dives to the side as the hammer impacts. Blackflame madra exploding in a radius behind before a quick acrobatic flip allowed her to split the approaching fires with her sword. She was unscathed, but the same could not be said of the flaming grounds. Eerie dark flame intermingled with script light as blackflame remained in pockets around where he stood.

"Not bad. Nice trick for setting me up with Dancing Dragon. But..." In a split second she crosses the distance between them. Her sword slamming into the warhammer with brute force, her hand pressing against the shaft. The proceeding clashing sound ringing Lindon, grunting with effort as Yerin's Steelborn body trumps his in brute strength. "See if you can trap me with this."

He shifted his foot back, turning with Yerin's strength before jerking the shaft out of her grasp. He paid for it with cuts on his cheek and left arm. But with an underlady's vitality she did not stop, she ploughed on with Flowing Sword collecting sword madra into her ever keening blade.

Despite the harsh training drills under the Akura, Lindon had this long warhammer crafted for its ease of use and how it's closer to Harmony's axe. But even that with Blackflame shrouding him, he could barely keep up with the student of the Sword Sage. Her blows coming in faster and faster. Any mental calls for Dross were to no avail as the construct continues to analyze the seemingly endless random combinations and feints she had strung from both blade and goldsigns.

Another blast of Blackfire hammer allows a shift in the distance to afford him a split moment's reprieve to fire black dragon's breath; the smooth beam of tar-like fire could melt most metals. But that too parts against the sword madra wreathed Sage's blade.

Soon whatever was left of Lindon's mental state was dragged into a dance for survival, a combination of Akura training and underlord's vitality keeping him nimble and enduring.

He'd now shifted his core for pure madra, the white steam-like cloak made from it allowed him to go on where Blackfire could not. But the damage was building, with various injuries draining what madra was left in his cores for healing.

Yerin did not let him use the length advantage of his warhammer. She kept him close as a coiled viper was to its prey. In the last five instances he could get close with open palm were shut as traps of bladed goldsigns were poised to skewer him, or Sage's blade cut deep into his forearms and chest. They shifted across the arena as they traded blows, Lindon letting his white arm absorb what sword madra was there to mitigate damage before venting them back at her. He caught an opening in her guard from a faint he'd learned from Fury, using the butt of his warhammer as a jab before swinging it in a small tight arc, looping around the thrusting blade arms and the haft of the hammer crashed on the shoulder.

Yerin grunts in pain, and one of her gold signs came retaliating in an offensive jab close to his head.

Still the sword and madra continues cut him down.

Twice her sword threatened to hamstring his legs, before the warhammer's long shaft was there to guard them, he leaned close to her to check two of the armblades from getting to him, while the hammer and spike tangles with the rest. Then her Steelborn fist caught his ribs and Lindon's breathing became unbearable, almost failing to cycle his depleting cores. He fell some paces back, the warhammer's tasselled spike rose feebly against her.

Everything hurt. he could feel the breaks in is ribs throb as he tries his best to even out his cycling technique as Lindon breathed heavily, his robes were rags now; marred with tears and blood. In front of him Yerin was better off; robes singed, an arms bruised purple with cuts along her legs and shoulders among other things. But with a better mastery of battle than himself at this stage and with Dross in silent analysis, Lindon was at a disadvantage.

She was always better than him at this, he conceded that. To last this long against a the Sage of Endless Sword's only pupil was a feat he could never have dreamed before meeting Eithan. There was no shame in admitting defeat now.

"Get up." Beneath weary eyes Lindon could see a frown form on  Yerin's face.

"I know you better than that. If you think you can concede this match from me. It'll just be a dishonour to the time we've spent fighting to get here." She spits blood on the ground before him before bringing her blade to level it on his face. Her blade arms ringing as she tunes the madra around her.

"Stop feeling sorry for anybody and yourself. If you hesitate one more time, heavens I swear! I'll make breathing in the next few moments as  painful as possible for you." He found that he could not meet her eyes. Realizing from all the times he'd know her, that she won't _let_ him give up. They knew each other too much for that.

There was a time her broken body lay upon the stone floor, half dying from the life taken from her in a battle just a few buildings away from here. Remembered her whispered fear that gave her the strength to ascend to Underlady.

In the face of that truth Lindon was afraid. Would they stay the same when the truth of this battle settled? Long after Suriel left him with the visions that led him to this moment, he had always gauged his skills at Yerin's; she'd been the star he was trying to reach since that fateful night in the outskirts of Heaven's Glory sect. He was a lowly unsouled then, leagues away from hers and barely able to manipulate madra to its barest potential.

What was he going to do if he left her? Until his battle with Jai Long he'd always thought she'd still be way far above him when the battle for the sake of Sacred Valley came- if ever Yerin stayed he'd never considered her so close now. But she did, and now...

Now Lindon could only feel shame. It was an irrational fear he knew. Facing it still fears him all the same.

He croaks an apology, but his voice was lost in the shriek of cutting madra.

The ruler's technique Endless Sword blasted in pulses of echoing sword madra all around her and to any edge within her control. Without copper sight, it can only be seen by the distortions it causes around the surroundings; the dust separating as cleaving waves cut through solid earth and rock. Fortunately Lindon's warhammer carried no edge, lest he too would immediately feel the technique's bite.

Unlike Rippling Sword, there was no escape the chaos that was Endless Sword. And to be so close to the eye of the storm, there was only one course.

[I have a plan, it's a half baked one. But I think you can improvise.] Lindon, ignores the construct. To _truly_ win this, he'll only need himself. [Are you crazy! After all that hard work?]

Digging deep into his soul, he reinforces the Soulfire Cloak as he charges in, relying on detecting the madra around him to find the weakest of the buffeting sword madra for his white arm to bear the brunt of the force. Its hunger bindings unleashed to further dull the killing forces. He screamed as severing cuts and gashes appeared, but with the brunt of it either shielded by pure madra or taken in by hunger madra, Lindon presses on.

The entire charge lasted for a moment but to his accelerated body, it felt like an eternity. He couldn't last anymore than a few paces in this storm of swords; but he doesn't have to for one last gamble.

He unseals the bindings of the shaft, tassels and spike- the modified remains of the banners he'd taken from Heaven's Glory incorporated into the warhammer. Light and dream madra fogged its tip before he impales it a few paces away from her.

In most cases, it wouldn't work for Yerin, she'd see it miles away once he'd unveiled it. Even then and without adequate soulfire enforcement from Lindon, both the ravaging sword madra and Yerin would knock it off before activation.

Now to be this close and her madra so dispersed into her ruler's technique- it was the only chance Lindon has for it to work.  

And it did, the modified scripts powering the illusion he'd created rendered her immobile, and with it; the swirling maelstrom of sword madra. There was a serene calm upon Yerin's face as her body holds an echo performing Endless Sword, while her mind was temporarily lost into the strong Dream and Light illusion.

Lindon crumples, his left hand tenuously resting upon the warhammer as much of a crutch as his key to victory.

[Not to burst your bubble but, you might want to look up and maybe run?]

He did not expect the Blood Shadow to be unaffected as its host.

Identical in almost all aspects save for it bloody countenance, the Shadow slipped from the frozen stature of Yerin akin to a reflection stepping out of glass- down to the sword her host has in her hands. Immediately Lindon tries to scramble, pulling what pure madra was inside his core. But with exhaustion and injury taking its toll, the Shadow takes initiative; it leans close to him.

There was a smirk on its lips as bloody hands takes the warhammer from his grip before closing the distance to his lips. Lindon barely remembers this, drained as he was. But the shadow tasted of copper and metal, its touch almost solid while emenating a vapour around it and almost warm as skin.

Then the shadow dispersed. Saeya's enforcer technique precisely blasting the Shadow from him. The remnants of it seeking back to Yerin whose blade now pokes his chest. Eyes narrowed at him.

Lindon feebly holds up his hands.

 

"My loss."

 

* * *

 

Notes:

Hmm, if the shadow takes on the characteristics and experience of the host; then of course it'll want to troll its host so long it within its bounds. The possibilities, the drama! :O

 

 

 


End file.
